From time to time the players got up from the tables, strolled into the buffet, had a drink and departed. But there was always a steady stream of newcomers to take their places. Mr. Machfield went back to his study, for he was expecting a telephone message. It came at a quarter past ten. A woman’s voice said: “Ena says everything is O.K.” He hung up the telephone with a smile. Ena was a safe bet: you could always trust that girl, and he did not question her ability to keep her visitor occupied for at least two hours. After that he would do a little questioning himself. But it must be he, and not that other fool. There was no sign of raiders. He had special scouts posted at every street corner approaching the house, and a man on the roof (no sinecure this on a night of rain and sleet) to take and transmit their signals in case of danger. If there were a raid he was prepared for it. More likely the police, following their invariable custom, would postpone the visitation until later in the week. And by that time, if all went well, the house would be closed and the keys in the hands of the agents. Kingfether was winning; there was a big pile of Treasury and five-pound notes before him. He looked animated, and for once in his life pleased. The bank was winning too; there was a big box recessed into the table, and this was full of paper money and every few minutes the pile was augmented. A dull evening! Mr. Machfield would be glad when the time came for his loud speaking gramophone to play the National Anthem. He always closed down on this patriotic note: it left the most unlucky of players with the comforting sense that at least they had their country left to them. He was looking at the long folding door of the room as it opened slowly. It was second nature in him to watch that opening door, and until this moment he had never been shocked or startled by what it revealed. Now, however, he stood dumbfounded, for there was Mr. Reeder, without his hat, and even without his umbrella. Nobody noticed him except the proprietor, and he was frozen to the spot. With an apologetic smile Mr. Reeder came tiptoeing across to him. “Do you very much mind?” he asked in an urgent whisper. “I find time hanging rather heavily upon my hands.” Machfield licked his dry lips. “Come here, will you?” He went back to his study, Reeder behind him. “Now, Mr. Reeder, what’s the idea of your coming here? How did you get in? I gave strict instructions to the man on the door----”